


Strip Programming

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-15 00:20:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8034676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: Rose attempts to seduce the Doctor while he's working.





	Strip Programming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goingtothetardis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingtothetardis/gifts).



> This is a sort of ridiculous thing I wrote for Heidi... on the occasion of her birthday! 
> 
> Basically I'm an idiot who found out it was her birthday /too close/ to her birthday, and this short little thing is all I could eke out on short notice. Heidi, I am sorry I could not provide higher quality content! I did try. I am just so terrible at writing ficlets. I hope you like it though!
> 
> It's unbeta'd, and was finished very late at night, so I apologize for any errors! :P

Rose flinches when her bare feet touch down onto the metal grating. Shivers when the long corridor breathes a draft over her exposed, damp skin. Fresh out a piping hot shower, the winding passages of the TARDIS feel even more frigid than usual, and she longs to stay in the toasty air and plush carpet of her room. Or at least to bring a pair of sweats and slippers along. But the skimpy ensemble is essential for what she has planned.

She hugs her towel tightly against her chest and scurries ahead on her toes.

When she peers through the ajar door of his study, the Doctor is still exactly as she left him. Specs on, his normally pristine hair a mess of his own doing, hunched over his desk. A growing radius of collateral damage surrounds the small, primitive deconstructed computer holding his attention. Scrap paper, diagrams, writing utensils, crumbs from every snack food in the kitchen. The cup of tea she brought him earlier is still untouched, cold and stale at the edge of the desk.

He’s currently scribbling out some calculations, the sonic between his teeth.

Rose leans against the doorjamb, arms and legs crossed. The movement is more than enough to alert his peripheral vision, but he doesn’t turn.

“You never joined me in the shower,” she calls.

Tucking his pencil behind his ear, he grabs the sonic and flicks through a few settings, murmuring to himself.

“Yep, be right there,” he calls between bouts of the technobabble, just barely nodding in her direction.

As she suspected, it will take a little more persistence to distract him.

“Already took one.”

Again, it takes him several seconds to process what she said.

“Sorry. Really, I am, but I have to finish this.” He doesn’t spare her even a small glance, still focused on the objects in front of him.

So he’s been saying for the last eighteen hours.

Charting a path around the failed ideas and crumpled papers on the floor, she slowly approaches his workspace.

“Only a few dozen lines of code left…” he mumbles, adjusting his glasses on his nose.

Flush against the back of his chair, she leans over and breathes in his ear.

“You promised.” A few droplets of water fall from her hair and slide down his neck.

He shudders, ever so slightly.

“You’re cold,” he says simply, fumbling with the screwdriver.

“Then come and warm me up,” she taunts him, tracing a finger along his collar.

He sighs.

“Rose, this is _Steven’s Hawking’s_ communication computer. If he doesn’t have it installed tomorrow –”

“All of reality will implode in a horrible paradox,” she interrupts. “Yeah, I got it. Steven bloody Hawking,” she grumbles, hugging her chest again.

“Beg your pardon?” He sounds scandalized by the remark, but still doesn’t turn.

“He was just a bit rude, is all,” Rose shrugs.

“I’d say he’s earned the right,” he says absently, sonicking what looks like a hard drive. This particular task seems monotonous enough that he can multi-task a little better. Talk and work.

“An’ what makes you think the regular humans couldn’t handle it on their own, hm?”

He scoffs. “That prototype was nowhere near completion. And besides, as far as anyone will know, a second-year intern named John Smith will submit the final version.”

Weary of having different versions of the same conversation over and over, she initiates phase two of her strategy. Steps beside the tattered rolling desk chair and sweeps back some of the clutter on the desk with her forearm to make just enough room for her bum.

“Rose, what –” The Doctor’s reprimand is caught in his throat when he finally glances up at her. The oscillating whir of the sonic halts in an instant, and his brown, spectacled eyes go wide.

“I… oh. Ah… hmm. You haven’t gotten dressed yet.” His Adam’s apple rises and falls in his throat as he swallows hard. His gaze wanders from her face to where the towel is barely covering her nipples, then even lower, to where her freshly shaved, smooth legs are hanging off the desk. He drinks in every inch on display to him, from mid-thigh down to her toes.

“Didn’t think you’d mind.” She crosses one leg over the other with an air of nonchalance.

The Doctor gapes at the cleavage formed by the towel a few more seconds.

“Nope.” His voice does that high-pitched squeaky thing it does when he’s flushed. “I don’t.”

He gulps down some more air, then turns his attention back to his task.

“Y’know, this is a time machine,” she reminds him. (Not that he needs to be reminded, but her scheme isn’t panning out as well as she’d hoped.)

“Is it?” he replies with mock surprise, fastening a few tiny screws with precision. “You’d think someone would’ve told me that sooner.”

“We could have this thing working and in its rightful place whenever we want.”

“If I put it off, I’ll forget about it,” he insists. “And then…”

“Paradox,” she finishes his sentence with a sigh.

She watches him work for a long moment, pondering what more she can do she hasn’t tried already.

“Do you know how difficult it is being confined to 1980’s technology?” he whinges, gesturing to the scattered pieces.

“Anything I can do to help?” she offers, nearly defeated. But perhaps scoring a few science points will help her case.

“Yes, actually,” he agrees, and picks up a cord attached to a black switch and holds it out for her. “Press this when I tell you to.”

Suddenly, she sees an opportunity.

Thinly disguising it as an accident, she reaches for the button with the hand that was until this point clutching the towel in place over her chest.

“Oh!” she exclaims with fake embarrassment as the fluffy pink cloth collects in her lap. The air in his study is hardly any warmer than that of the chilly hallways; her nipples harden as soon as the air touches them. But the way the Doctor’s eyebrows shoot up on his forehead, his jaw goes slack and his cheeks blush with pink, makes it almost worth it. Staring up at her breasts with a dazed, deer-in-the-headlights look, his knuckles go white around the button he was about to hand to her.

“Ah, well.” She shrugs, like her being eighty percent naked is completely normal. (To be fair, on an average night when he isn’t stubbornly forbidding leisure activities, it _is_ fairly normal.) “Nothing you haven’t seen before, yeah?” She tries to pry the device from his him, but his grip doesn’t loosen. That big, Time Lord brain of his doesn’t even appear to have registered that she’s touching his hand.

“Quite,” he responds finally, his voice hoarse. He finally relents his grip on the device, and she takes it from his palm.

“If it’s going to distract, you, though…” she grabs the towel in her fists and pulls it up a few inches.

“No!” he interjects, his arm shooting out to stop her from lifting it any further. “It won’t. Distract me. Not at all.”

He gives her an exaggerated, tight-lipped smile, and returns to his work. As quickly as she had wrested some control over the encounter, he has stolen it back.

Several minutes pass without any requests to press the conspicuous button, and the Doctor is not nearly distracted enough for her liking. Aside from the occasional flicker of his eyes to her chest, he remains focused, as though she isn’t perched practically bare-bummed mere inches from his workspace.

Rose quickly grows irritated. And cold. She had expected seducing him while he was caught up in a project would be challenging as ever, but never thought he would take it this far.

“How much longer’ll this take?” she asks, doing her best to make it sound like a mere, idle curiosity.

“I made a slight miscalculation earlier. Set me back a couple of hours.”

 _A couple of hours?_ She balks. Her patience has run dry.

“I think you could use a break, then.” She tosses the button back on the desk and leans closer to him, combing her fingers softly through his hair. “Just a few minutes, hm? Relax a little?”

His eyelids flutter closed, and he leans into her hand with a small, keening sound in his throat.

“Have to finish this,” he mumbles, but it sounds more like a futile mantra now than a proper counterargument.

She decides to play along. If he’s bluffing, it’s time to call it.

“Well.” She draws the word out, mimicking the way he says it so often. Dropping her hand from his hair, she hops off the desk, holding the towel at her waist. His eyes fly open instantly, anticipating her next move. “S’pose I can just… go an’ relax by myself.”

Dearly hoping she has him hooked now, she twirls around on her toes, and purposefully sways her hips as she saunters away. But before she has even gone two steps, something tugs on her towel from behind. The cloth is easily torn from her hand, and it slips from around her waist, leaving her bared from head to toe.

She turns around slowly, hoping he has finally caved. The Doctor is on his feet, the towel thrown over his shoulder, and his eyes glaze over for a few moments as they rake up and down her exposed form. But then he lunges forward, scoops her up from under her thighs like she’s as light as a doll (she squeals playfully) and carries her back to the desk, setting her where she was moments before. The wood is hardly comfortable without the towel as cushion – cool and hard – but she doesn’t think she’ll mind in a few seconds.

He ghosts his fingertips down her thighs.

“Next time.” He presses a quick, tender kiss to her lips. “You can just tell me what you want. No need to be so cryptic.”

She opens her mouth, ready to list off all the reasons he’s an idiot who lacks basic intuition.

But before she can get out a word, he winks at her with a soft click of his tongue.

“Git.” She whacks him in the arm.

An arrogant little smirk pulls up one corner of his mouth as he pushes the chair out of the way with his foot. He cloaks the towel around her shoulders, murmuring something about keeping her warm, and she pulls the two ends together in the front.

“Ta,” she whispers.

With one last faint touch of his lips to hers, he sinks to his knees.


End file.
